


The Facts of Life

by windfallswest



Series: Marriage à trois [1]
Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Lemon, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 10:10:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18466810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfallswest/pseuds/windfallswest
Summary: Hodgins opened his mouth, closed it, and finally said, "Just wondering what all the fuss is about.""What, you want a demonstration?"





	The Facts of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere between Angela and Wendell's breakup (5.12) and her jailhouse elopement with Hodgins (5.20).

Wendell set down his half-empty beer glass a little more sharply than he needed to. "What?"

Hodgins tilted his head quizzically, which was such bullshit. "What what?"

"You're staring. Do I have beer foam on my chin or something?" Wendell wiped it with the back of his hand, just in case.

Hodgins opened his mouth, closed it, and finally said, "Just wondering what all the fuss is about." 

Wendell choked on his beer. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

"I—look—I— Angela...isn't easy to impress."

"What, you want a demonstration?"

Hodgins waggled his eyebrows up and down until a snort cracked through his façade and he doubled over in a fit of giggles. Wendell caught him before he could tip over off his bar stool. 

Hodgins slung an arm around his shoulders and leaned into him. "Come on. We'll catch a cab back to my place and break out the good stuff. What do you say?"

 

"I say you live in the Addams Family mansion," Wendell said, baulking as Hodgins started up the marble-clad front steps. The taxi was already headed back down the long, long, winding driveway, tail lights disappearing behind the tennis courts.

"Oh, come on," Hodgins objected. "It's not that—no, it is. It's that bad. There are chandeliers. And—wainscoting," he wheezed through a drunken giggle. 

It was infectious. " _Wainscoting?_ " Wendell honked a laugh, doubling over and kind of listing into Hodgins.

Hodgins stumbled and leaned back, steadying himself by flinging an arm around Wendell's shoulders. They staggered up the steps not at all in sync, although they managed not to trip over the stairs, each other's feet, or their own feet.

"Whoo!" Hodgins whooped in Wendell's ear when they'd summited this obstacle. "King of the Stairs!"

Wendell fell back against the huge, mansion-y double doors. "You are so drunk."

Hodgins fumbled with his keys for a minute before finding the right one and getting it into the lock. "You're one to talk. Okay, prepare yourself."

Wendell sniggered again. "Wainscoting?"

"You think you know, but you...have no idea."

He opened one side of the door and Wendell pivoted on the axis of his shoulder until he could steady himself on the closed door and step through. It was...

"Seriously?"

Hodgins pulled the door shut behind them. "I tried redecorating once, but when mansion is what you have to work with, your options are kind of limited." 

Wendell drifted down the front hall while Hodgins punched a code into the security panel by the door. There was definitely wainscoting. And a Beauty and the Beast staircase. He was actually a little surprised there wasn't any bunting or armour or anything. Okay, that might have been too much Harry Potter during his formative years. Hodgins was crazy rich, but he wasn't an English duke.

Wendell snorted. Hodgins caught up with him in the doorway behind the stairs, which opened on a slightly less intimidating hallway.

"I tried to warn you."

Wendell smirked at him. "Eh. Could be worse."

He stuck his head through an open door and saw what had probably used to be a large kitchen before Hodgins had happened to it. Now it was definitely a lab, which explained what Hodgins did on his days off. 

"Okay. _Now_ I'll believe you really live here."

Hodgins elbowed him in the side. 

"So, where are we going? Is there a monorail?" Wendell asked, trailing along agreeably as his brain swam up into a less wobbly state of drunkenness. 

"No, but I used to slide down the bannisters of the main staircase." 

Hodgins grinned; Wendell grinned back. 

"You know what we need?" Hodgins asked.

"Coffee?" 

" _Coffee_ ," Hodgins moaned, opening another door.

"Except you've got a gas chromatograph sitting on your kitchen counter," Wendell felt obliged to point out.

Hodgins cast him a dry look. "I have a kitchen. One you don't have to roller skate across to keep from burning things. _I_ am a very good cook, I'll have you know."

Wendell started snickering again.

"What?" Hodgins turned around in the doorway. 

Wendell stopped just short of running into him. Hodgins' facial expressions were really entertaining from this close. 

"What is it?" Hodgins whined, pouting in the face of his poorly-suppressed laughter.

"Dude, the mental image of you in roller skates. I will never unsee that."

"Oh, just get in here."

They went through into a more normal-sized kitchen that probably used to be a pantry or something. It was the most normal-looking part of the house so far, actually, with modern appliances and a minimum of fusty antiques. 

Wendell hopped up onto a stool in front of the counter while Hodgins started the coffee. He ducked back out the door, returning a minute or so later with a mostly-full bottle of whiskey.

"Let me guess: Irish whiskey for the Irish coffee?"

Hodgins grinned. He really did have a demented grin. It made Wendell feel like he was eight years old and he and his friends were daring each other to jump off the foot bridge into the reservoir. "How well you know me."

His hands caught Wendell's eye as he poured. Conscious of paying a little too much attention, he glanced at the squat bottle instead. Teeling, twenty-one-year-old single malt. Really Irish whiskey. Really _good_ Irish whiskey. Hodgins offered it to him casually in a coffee mug.

"Still drinkable without the coffee, right?" Hodgins prompted him.

Wendell accepted the mug with an awkward smile. "What, no hundred and fifty-year-old decanter?"

Their hands had touched, not that that was weird or notable. Hodgins was a touchy kind of guy anyway; it was just being drunk that made Wendell's mind linger where it had no business lingering.

"Nah, that stuff's all contaminated. Leaded crystal." 

Wendell took a sip and completely forgot what he'd been about to say. "Oh, man."

Hodgins made a noise of agreement and appreciation. Wendell took another sip, almost drunk enough not to be pricing it in his head. He glanced aside at the coffee machine.

"Is it me, or is this taking forever?"

"Well, I'd show you my lab, but you had to be all mocking about it."

"What? No! You've got to show me the house!" said Wendell with drunken conviction. "I came allll the way up that driveway. C'mon. Wainscoting! Chandeliers! Don't think I didn't notice the chandeliers."

Hodgins was weakening. Wendell piled on with an imploring look he'd had success with in the past.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Which was a seriously loaded question, coming from present company. Hodgins leaned in conspiratorially. "I actually kind of love the chandeliers. Completely over the top, but...but..."

"Hey, that's you all over."

"Shyeah thanks." Hodgins nudged him with an elbow, and Wendell's knowing façade crumbled into drunken giggles again.

Having successfully wheedled Hodgins into giving him a tour, Wendell didn't really know how he'd ended up in Hodgins' bed, except that it was the most comfortable mattress he'd ever felt in his life. He stared up at the (fancy-pants pressed tin) ceiling and heaved what he imagined was a decadent sigh.

"Comfortable?" Hodgins asked, amusement in his voice.

"Oh my god, yes," Wendell moaned.

Hodgins snorted. "Come on. Coffee's probably ready."

Wendell made a less than enthusiastic noise at the prospect of moving.

"Whiskey's definitely ready," Hodgins coaxed in a sing-song voice, and that was fleetingly tempting.

He reached down to haul Wendell to his feet, but Wendell's inertia was too much for him. Instead of him coming up, Hodgins went down. He landed on top of Wendell's stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. Wendell stared up at his face from an inch and a half away.

"Reconsidering that demonstration?" he asked breathlessly.

At this range, Wendell was at a good vantage to observe Hodgins' eyes widening. And his pupils dilating. And feel the interruption in Hodgins' breathing when he licked his lips. 

It stopped completely when Wendell kissed him. Closing his eyes, Wendell sank into it for one long, perfect moment.

Hodgins kissed him again. Wendell's eyes drifted open when he pulled back. 

"Ever done this before?" Hodgins asked, and his voice was this low, private rumble Wendell had heard him use with Angela. 

"Have you?"

Hodgins snorted. "Dude, eight years of all-boys boarding schools. It's a fact of life." 

"Well, then, Doctor Hodgins," it was surprisingly difficult to leer from less than two inches away, "show me the facts of life."

Hodgins threw his head back and let out with a full-throated belly laugh. Making a face, Wendell tumbled him onto his back. Hodgins grinned madly up at him.

They kissed again, probably making more body contact than if they'd been sober. Hodgins' mouth tasted like expensive whiskey, and his beard prickled against Wendell's cheeks. 

He was warm, but his hands were cold. Wendell had noticed working together that they always were. They were also rough, and nimble, and inching up under Wendell's shirt. 

He spread his hands over Hodgins' sides. Straddling Hodgins, he could feel Hodgins' erection against his hip; but that was apparently okay, because he was getting hard, too. 

Wendell was exactly drunk enough to just enjoy how good this felt and not worry about anything else too much. He stretched out on top of Hodgins, pressing closer, enjoying the spark as Hodgins went from stroking to gripping. Their kisses were deep and intoxicating, spinning out and out like they might stretch into infinity.

Hodgins pushed him over onto his back, still licking into Wendell's mouth as he started working open the buttons on Wendell's shirt. Wendell cupped his hand around the back of Hodgins' neck to keep him there. With the other hand, he stroked down Hodgins' back to his hip.

They rocked together through uncomfortably confining pants. Wendell grabbed Hodgins' ass because he needed _more_ , more friction, more touching, and definitely more skin. He pulled Hodgins' tee-shirt off over his head, but lost focus when Hodgins' hands went for his belt. 

He was always a little surprised at how muscular Hodgins was under the lab coats and hoodies. Layers on top of layers. Wendell decided to peel a few more back.

In his current condition, Wendell was more concerned with touching than with whether he should be touching or wondering about what it meant that he wanted to touch so much. Hodgins returned the favour with no sign of self-consciousness, stripping away Wendell's doubled shirts. 

He was very vocal about his appreciation when Wendell slipped his hands under the waistband of his jeans to squeeze his ass. They ground their hips together, and both of them were definitely hard. 

"Yeah, baby," Hodgins slurred into his mouth, and Wendell snorted a panting laugh.

"Shut up." 

Hodgins bit his lower lip, then let it slip slowly from between his teeth. Wendell thrust harder. He hated his jeans so, so much right now. 

"Clothes. Now. Fuck."

Hodgins groaned in response. Unendingly clever, his hands started yanking at Wendell's belt and fly. Reluctantly, Wendell let go of his ass to reciprocate, but he could feel the hard bulge of Hodgins' cock and kept getting distracted rubbing its outline through the thick material. 

Hodgins was alternately groaning and cursing at him. Wendell couldn't stop the smirk that cocked his mouth up as the reaction bolstered his confidence. 

Pressing his advantage, he tried to bowl Hodgins over again; but Hodgins muscled him down and finished with his pants. His rough hand closed around Wendell.

Advantage: Hodgins. A heartfelt moan of appreciation came up from what felt like his toes. 

It took Wendell a minute to scrape enough brains together again to finally get Hodgins out of his pants. Everything was hot and close, bodies moving together in something like a rhythm. Wendell jerked Hodgins fast and a little hard, muscle memory taking over as his brain shut down again. 

Puffs of breath reflected back off skin where they weren't touching. Hodgins' mouth smeared over Wendell's stubble. His own beard prickled under Wendell's lips as Wendell bit along his jawline. 

They tangled and tumbled together on top of the covers, kicking down their pants with little to nothing in the way of finesse. Hodgins got his hand around both of them, squeezing their cocks together. Wendell pushed into his grip, grasping his ass again and thrusting down. The contrast between Hodgins' smooth dick and rough hand short-circuited something in his brain. 

Wendell was excruciatingly close when Hodgins let out a final throaty moan and came. Come slicked his hand until he lost his grip, dragging his sticky hand and short fingernails up Wendell's side to his back. Wendell pushed his cock through the mess on Hodgins' flat stomach until the shivery tingle in his nerves tightened into a spasm of pleasure. _Fuck_ , but that felt good. 

 

In the morning, Wendell woke up grudgingly, with a debilitating hangover that, when he tried to roll over, did nothing to drown out the sensation of all the hairs being yanked off his stomach, chest, and thighs where he was stuck to...Hodgins. Whose shoulder he'd been drooling on all night. 

Hodgins whined and bumped Wendell's aching head on the way to massaging his own face. Wendell grunted a small, pitiful sound. 

"Ugh, fuck me," Hodgins rasped.

Wendell finally made it onto his back. One leg of his jeans was still up around his knee. "Maybe next time."

"Ahaha. I wonder if that coffee's ready yet." 

_Coffee._ The thought was actually enough to motivate Wendell to start struggling upright. "God, I hope so."

**Author's Note:**

> I have definite but amorphous plans to develop this into a threesome circa Wendell's 29th birthday in s8.


End file.
